One thing separates man from the animals. Actually scratch that. There are plenty of things that separate man from the animals: bicycles, Celine Dion, underpants, mummy porn, hip hop, religion.

For the purposes of this column, however, we are going to pretend that what sets us apart from aardvarks, horseshoe crabs and cormorants is our ability (not always exercised) to stand in orderly queues. These words are triggered by long hours standing between ropes in blazing sunlight at the Cannes Film Festival. As you may be aware, the festival is ordered around hierarchies so strict they make the Court of Versailles seem like an anarchist yurt.

Journalists are handed one of four colour-coded badges – some of which include further sub-divisions – that range from papal white (carried into screenings in sedan chair) to perilous yellow (required to lick clean the aisles after the credits have rolled). All but the loftiest castes will be required to spend much of the 10 days in a queue.

Let's make another sweeping statement. Aside from talking in the cinema, there are few things that irritate the civilised person more than bad behaviour in queues. There are people who wear shoes, eat with cutlery, educate their young and remain in place when standing in line. There are others who wear loincloths, sleep in caves, eat their own young and barge thoughtlessly ahead when queuing at the cinema. That's not really fair. The orderly queue is, of course, a cultural construct like any other. Some societies abide by it. Others do not. Holy rite For the English, still harbouring memories of rationing, the queue is a sort of holy rite to compare with evensong or The Great British Bake Off. Stick a pole in an English field and, within minutes, a line will have formed behind it packed with people ready to "tut" at anyone foolish enough to hop in front.

For the most part, the Irish can be trusted to abide by the rules laid down in the UN’s Declaration on Civilised Queuing. Occasional disorder does break out. Certain maniacs will not follow the logical convention that requires a single queue to be formed at fast food outlets where more than one till is in operation. Occasionally, Irish people will defy flight attendants’ clearly stated instruction – she just said it, for Christ’s sake! – to step in from the aisle when stowing their luggage.

From time to time, we will arrive at the head of an ATM queue and, as if not expecting to encounter a cash machine, start tapping our pockets randomly and, after finally inserting said plastic in machine, stare at the screen for whole minutes trying to interpret the apparently indecipherable hieroglyphics on screen. Push the bloody button, for feck’s sake! You are not addressing the controls of an F-111! Hang on. Where was I? The Irish, like the Dutch, the Germans and the Swedish, tend to understand the rules of the queue and abide by them.

Americans are, if anything, even more rigorous in queuing discipline than northern Europeans. Here we get into difficult territory. All generalisations based on race are invidious. Begin by criticising a nation’s driving habits and you may end up drifting into high-end, full-on racist mode.

All those coached provisos noted, can we suggest that, in nations where romance languages are spoken, there is that bit less respect for the sanctity of the queue? The closer you get to the Mediterranean, the more people favour the massed drift over the ordered line.

I can recall, about five years ago, forming a line to have lunch in the restaurant atop the Fernsehturm in Berlin. When the doors opened, order broke down as certain people in the queue simply surged forward to take a place that wasn't really theirs. It was astonishing to observe how this activity reinforced certain ancient rivalries and broke down a few more hitherto unshakable antipathies.

Visitors from Ireland and Hamburg joined forces with tourists from England and the United States to tut furiously while casting their eyes violently to heaven. Valley Forge, the Great Famine and the Battle of Britain were all temporarily forgotten as we joined in an orgy of congratulation at our own urge for order.

All of which suggests there may be an upside to such occasional descents into anarchy. It tears some of us apart. But it brings some of us together. None of this matters very much. The Italians still managed to build the Colosseum and form the rudiments of modern law. The Spanish conquered entire continents. We were probably too busy standing behind a pole in a field.